Novus Ordo Seclorum
by Iris Cornelia Jade
Summary: A new order for the ages: a new way of life in every time. For the 100 prompts challenge, unofficial. Number II: Love
1. Chapter 1

**The lazy procrastinator has something else up. Whoop-dee-doo.**

**And what's this? It's for the HP forum, which she barely ever goes on? **

**Just great. -.-**

**Note the sarcasm.**

**Anywho,**

**This is more of a side project, since I'm still working on a multi-chapter prankwar here (check it out when it comes up, it's gonna be epic!)...yeah, I have nothing else to say.**

**This is a list of the 100 prompts this is for.**

**Again: This is more of a side project. Do not expect regular updates.**

1. Introduction

2. Love

3. Light

4. Dark

5. Seeking Solace

6. Break Away

7. Heaven

__8. Innocence

9. Drive

10. Breathe Again

11. Memory

12. Insanity

13. Misfortune

14. Smile

15. Silence

16. Questioning

17. Blood

18. Rainbow

19. Gray

20. Fortitude

21. Vacation

22. Mother Nature

23. Cat

24. No Time

25. Trouble Lurking

26. Tears

27. Foreign

28. Sorrow

29. Happiness

30. Under the Rain

31. Flowers

32. Night

33. Expectations

34. Stars

35. Hold My Hand

36. Precious Treasure

37. Eyes

38. Abandoned

39. Dreams

40. Rated

41. Teamwork

42. Standing Still

43. Dying

44. Two Roads

45. Illusion

46. Family

47. Creation

48. Childhood

49. Stripes

50. Breaking the Rules

51. Sport

52. Deep in Thought

53. Keeping a Secret

54. Tower

55. Waiting

56. Danger Ahead

57. Sacrifice

58. Kick in the Head

59. No Way Out

60. Rejection

61. Fairy Tale

62. Magic

63. Do Not Disturb

64. Multitasking

65. Horror

66. Traps

67. Playing the Melody

68. Hero

69. Annoyance

70. 67%

71. Obsession

72. Mischief Managed

73. I Can't

74. Are You Challenging Me?

75. Mirror

76. Broken Pieces

77. Test

78. Drink

79. Starvation

80. Words

81. Pen and Paper

82. Can You Hear Me?

83. Heal

84. Out Cold

85. Spiral

86. Seeing Red

87. Food

88. Pain

89. Through the Fire

90. Triangle

91. Drowning

92. All That I Have

93. Give Up

94. Last Hope

95. Advertisement

96. In the Storm

97. Safety First

98. Puzzle

99. Solitude

100. Relaxation


	2. Introduction

**i. introduction**

* * *

><p>God in the Flesh<p>

* * *

><p><em>in the beginning, the earth was formless and empty. darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the spirit of god hovered over the waters...<em>

* * *

><p>It was the darkest time, the time when the brightness was needed but wasn't there. The rise of Grindewald, the rise of everything evil. Almost like fate. Like prophecy. Grindewald was the Satan of the wizarding world, and all they needed was a miracle. A God, someone who knew Grindewald before he had fallen (like Satan had once been Lucifer, the angel of light). A God. A miracle.<p>

* * *

><p><em>...but then god created the heavens and the earth.<em>

* * *

><p>Albus Dumbledore was waiting in the shadows, their ready-made miracle.<p>

Ready, as he had always been, to be revered for mile and mile around as the genius he was–the greatness he was–like the miracle-maker he was and knew he was destined to be.

* * *

><p><em>And God said 'let there be light,' and there was light.<em>

* * *

><p>He waited. He was patient. He waited for the right time to shine–and when it was, he stepped out of the darkness and defeated the devil, just like everyone knew he would. All was right. It was light.<p>

And then a new darkness came, with a name dubbed Voldemort.

* * *

><p><em>God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.<em>

* * *

><p>It was again the darkest of times, and Albus had to marvel at the fickle ways of humanity. How quickly did one darkest time switch to another, one horror that everyone thought was the worst disappear only to be replaced by one even more horrible.<p>

But it would end soon, Albus knew. And he also knew that he would be the one to end it.

* * *

><p><em>God called the light 'day,' and the darkness he called 'night.' And there was evening and morning–the first day.<em>

* * *

><p>But the good and dark sides needed their names–their rallying cries, their symbols.<p>

So his own group he called by his pet, the symbol of hope, the fire burning in the souls–order, calming repetition–and a phoenix. A fire bird. Rebirth. Living proof that he would always bounce back to face whatever horror the world gave him.

And, contrary to popular belief, it was he, in that darkest time, that coined the term 'death eater.'

And the heavens danced, the stars sang, and the Earth rounded the sun as the year drew to a close.

* * *

><p><em>And God said, "Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water." So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. And it was so. God called the vault "sky." And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.<em>

* * *

><p>He had two personalities, that he split like placing a clear wall. There was the teacher, the humbled and understanding teacher<em>—<em>and then there was the leading authority figure that would bring the end to Voldemort.

One flew high into the sky on his own success, and the other lay low.

He never found out which one he really was.

And, as the same chaos reigned, there was no rise or fall in the destruction. So common had the death become, it was almost like routine...

And the second year passed in a blur.

* * *

><p><em>And God said, "Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear." And it was so. God called the dry ground "land," and the gathered waters he called "seas." And God saw that it was good. <em>

* * *

><p>Between a world of chaos and a world of chaos emerged an isle of calm<em>—<em>the school of Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_—_a solitary place of hope and safety, a hard rock to hold on to for seven years so that people were ready to face the big, bad world out there.

* * *

><p><em>Then God said, "Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds." And it was so. The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the third day.<em>

* * *

><p>As he began to morph more and more into the form of a teacher, abandoning his leadership to guide the young to a better place, he saw more and more happiness. More and more of himself.<p>

And so, when the government called on him in their darkest hour, he refused.

He was contented to stay among his flock, tending to his garden of young minds until they bore fruit unlike any other.

And another year passed_—_and these years, the years when things _almost_ seemed alright, really were a second a sickle.

* * *

><p><em>And God said, "Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth." And it was so. God made two great lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars. God set them in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the fourth day.<em>

* * *

><p>But duty, Albus Dumbledore learned, did not sit well with that. It needed to be done, it needed to be heard, it demanded drastic action that Albus did not want to give<em>—<em>but it was action he _had_ to give, and he hated it so.

But he had called upon himself the responsibility, and now he was paying the price. So he dutifully waged his little wars against evil, giving pinpricks of hope in dark nights and a glowing sun on days when it almost seemed as though the war was over. Because, when all hope is lost, no one cares what their saving grace thinks about their situation. They just want to be rescued.

And the fourth year passed again, almost without notice, caught in the midst of life, death, and duty.

* * *

><p><em>And so it continued.<em>

* * *

><p>He continued on with his wars. The Order of the Pheonix lay low, no recruits, no real action. Almost peace.<p>

A year passed_— _then the eve of the sixth year.

* * *

><p><em>So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.<em>

* * *

><p>And then, his ultimate creation. He handpicked the finest and led them into the Order, a plethora of people, male and female, any ethnicity. He taught they good magic some only dreamed of. He taught them everything he knew, and quite a bit he didn't know.<p>

And his creation_—_or at least, the Adam and Eve of his creation (James and Lily Potter, the cream of the crop)_—_was what saved the world.

* * *

><p><em>And on the seventh day, God rested.<em>

* * *

><p>But that was just the introduction of the story<em>—<em>because a hero's work is never done.

* * *

><p><strong>I REALIZE I MADE THIS ALL CONTROVERSIAL, WITH THE BIBLICAL TENDENCIES. I apologize. But the idea came and stuck<em>—<em>and here we are.**

**Review?**


	3. Love

**ii. love**

* * *

><p>Roses in Red, Violets Born Blue<p>

a tale of the cynical side of love.

* * *

><p><strong>Luna Selene Lovegood<strong>

_I'm at the crossroads of life,  
>with a choice to make.<br>There's the left road,  
>the right road,<br>and everything at stake.  
>And I have to choose quickly,<br>the worst chance to take,  
>because it's harder to fix,<br>but it's easy to break._

* * *

><p>She hears <em>her<em> sing the song by the riverside, and her eyes peep out like rising amber suns as she tilts her head in a quizzical, practiced fashion that is the root of many a trouble. Her red tie swings out, ruffled from its deemed place next to the lion pin on her lapel, and she knows it's wrong to be sitting in the corner of the glade, eyes brimming over the book, watching _the girl_ thoughtfully like a little stalker. She can't help it, though: there's a controlled air to_ the girl_ by the riverside, the one with eyes blue on blue like violets, hair woven out of starshine that's not quite golden but not quite platinum blonde._ She_ looks like a nymph, larks like a sparrow, and sings like an angel. Doesn't care what anyone wants, does as she pleases, it's the type of girl that will get Hermione Jean Granger into trouble, or even worse, the kind of social embarrassment ten times as intensified than the type she already has to endure...but her eyes keep looking, the girl keeps singing, and life goes on.

The girl turns, eyes searching, and Hermione ducks behind her book again, shaking against the tree, wincing as the stray splinter snags her brand new robe. Switching her gaze from the top of the book to the bottom of the book, she is surprised to find a pair of coal polished shoes. Looking up, the nymph is by her side, head cocked and smile wide. She is short, shorter than Hermione.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she says, holding out her hand, and her voice echoes as she stares dreamily at a point behind Hermione, as if she's talking to the little angel sitting on her shoulder. "And you are?"

"Her...Hermione Granger."

"Wait a second, please, miss," says Miss Lovegood, snapping her attention to Hermione for half a second before turning back to the point above Hermione's shoulder. "Yes, thank you." She smiles before turning her attention back to Hermione. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My name's Hermione Granger."

"Oh, hello, Hermione Granger! I've heard all about you...you're a second year, aren't you?"

When Hermione nods, she laughs, clapping her hands in delight. "Oh, that's wonderful! It must be nice, watching, waiting, and learning as the years go by. I'm jealous; years slip for me, and I feel like I never learn anything." She nods in confident affirmation. "That's why I'm so excited to be at Hogwarts, after all: I'm finally learning something. Getting rid of all those 'dead flies and little bits of fluff.'" Nodding serenely and smiling slightly at the quote from the school song, Luna picks a fly out of the air to emphasize her point, turning around and setting it free.

It seems redundant: freedom to captivity back to freedom, just to prove a point Hermione already knew. She tells the girl so, in blunt terms, and she gets a laugh in response.

"Oh, I see. Cheeky, huh? No imagination. You're one of many, you're not alone. But you're different." Luna squints at her, as if looking past her exterior, and Hermione glances self-consciously down. Collar buttoned, dress shirt tucked in, no stains. Nothing to be embarrassed of. But Luna frowns, as if she's found something wrong anyway.

Then a smile lights her face again as she turn around, calling over her shoulder.

"Literal. No imagination. But there's something different about you. Something different indeed. Maybe _you're_ one of the type that can still learn love."

* * *

><p><strong>Lily Amaryllis Evans<strong>

_It's the maker of royalty,_  
><em>Weapon of all,<em>  
><em>Tonic for the lonely<em>  
><em>And reason to fall.<em>  
><em>It's the root of each story,<em>  
><em>the bump in the road,<em>  
><em>A break, a respite,<em>  
><em>from the wearisome load.<em>  
><em>Inspiration, the fault,<em>  
><em>it's the worst and the best,<em>  
><em>the start of the journey,<em>  
><em>and all of the rest.<em>

* * *

><p>He watches in the root of the gnarled tree chunk, a sort of trance as the two girls among the circle of many hop around and around, singing, chanting, and laughing over a song they probably know nothing about. The love that makes the common folk queens within a single vow, maybe laws broken. The love that induces men to capture loved ones, so as to hold power over others. The love that heals the lonely. The love that destroys, in the end, when it is lost.<p>

_She_ stops, her fire-red hair gleaming golden in autumn sunset, and her green eyes sparkle with vivacity as she throws her head back and laughs, a wild, free sound lost among the chorus of chanting voices that dance round and round in a circle, velcro-sandal-ed feet crunching on the playground gravel. Her sister grins and says something in return, rich chocolate hair swinging forward as she whispers incredulously into Lily's ear. Petunia pauses for a reaction, and Lily laughs again, almost disrupting the circle, and Snape's heart gives a sort of ache because Lily Evans is _everything, everything he's ever wanted, _and she's the one that's untouchable.

_I'd treat her well. Perhaps, under different circumstances...no, that's stupid._

And it's true. His hope is in vain. No use kinking out the 'what ifs.' His story was never meant to be a happy one.

But his story is still there, and it is centered around Lily Evans. His story is the story of cracking branches, singing larks, and midnight tiptoes under pretense of nighttime snacks. His story is the story of unrequited love, the strongest, aching one where he looks and looks even when he's not supposed to, but no one looks back. She is the solution, the unattainable goal, and the problem, the obstacle, is...well...everything about himself.

But he doesn't stop, can't stop. Because she is the thing that keeps him going. She is the thing that reminds him that there is something greater, better, something outside the sphere of hatred and loneliness he calls home. A place where a girl with laughing eyes, flaming hair, and freckles mingled with dimples like summer dew can dance in a circle and laugh about nothing, everything, and anything.

She is his inspiration. She is his star.

But she is also his weakness, his reminder that something can and will get to him, and the pain only intensifies when he looks and she doesn't look back.

She is the rising sun, the promise of another day of inspiration along with the weariness of another day of routine.

The other girls begin to leave, until finally it is just her and her sister swinging on swings. She swings higher, higher, flying high out of Snape's reach, she lets go...and, when her sister comes running, she presents her with a snapping flower.

Unbeknownst to him, she is the beginning, duration, and end of his story.

* * *

><p><strong>Ginevra Molly Weasley<strong>

_The door as it opens._  
><em>The light, it drifts in,<em>  
><em>It clears up the cobwebs,<em>  
><em>and instigates din.<em>  
><em>Cacophony of sounds<em>  
><em>as they pound in my head,<em>  
><em>giving me promises of <em>  
><em>freedom and dread.<em>  
><em>To stay in the dark or to walk through the door?<em>  
><em>The choices aren't clouded in doubt <em>  
><em>anymore.<em>

* * *

><p>She lays down the paddle brush, running an experimental hand through her hair. It is silky smooth, but her finger catches a knot and she reaches for the brush again, just to make sure. No use beating around the bush. She grabs a dusty quill with a few feather-light strands ripped off from suspicious pygmy-puff sized chew marks, seizes an almost empty ink bottle, and uses the corner of a Mrs. Skower's ad in her mother's latest Witch Weekly as she scrawls in handwriting only she can decipher.<p>

1) She will never have that perfect, careless hair (and overall demeanor) like Cho Lynn Chang.

2) She will never be smart and unruffled like Hermione Jean Granger.

3) She will never be caring, kind, and unselfish like Luna Selene Lovegood.

4) She will never, _ever_ catch the attention of Harry James Potter.

She lays down the quill in defeat, puts her head in her hands, and thinks. She doesn't cry, doesn't reflect on the cruel nature of her life. _Think. _That is the answer.

The option proposes itself.

"You could give up."

Hermione Jean Granger is smart. Her way seems to make the most sense, keep the most lives untouched, break the least hearts. But Ginny can not, will not help it. Stupid girl with her stupid pride, her stupid embarrassment, in love with the stupid perfect Boy-who-Lived.

She shakes her head almost (but not quite) subconsciously. She can not give up now. It is in her nature now, burned on like a spell. Or a curse, for that matter.

But, no matter how many times she tries to tell herself she can not turn her back now, no matter how many times visions of the brave one slay the basilisk in her fairy-tale mind, the option clears up her cobwebs and exposes her new nature, a girl with nowhere to turn, warring with herself.

The option is cleaning some old skeletons out of her closet.

Because she is nothing to him, nothing but another fangirl who will claim the butter dish attacks her, not the other way around, when he enters the room. She is another one of them, shallow, insignificant, and nowhere near anything he will notice. Because, despite her brother being his best mate, Ginny is just another girl who will be judged by her own merits, not her siblings.

"You can be free," one side says. "You have opportunity, and Harry is not the only one out there. There are plenty more handsome, moral boys who are much more attainable."

But she knows, deep down, perhaps, that she will always be bound to him no matter what happens because this is not a school girl crush. She knows, with something more, that she means it when she says she loves him.

But she can try. She can try to give up. She can fail, yes, but she can still try and try again. And who knows? Maybe, someday, she'll even convince herself that she no longer loves the Boy-who-Lived.

She takes a deep breath, with decision, and finally puts down the paddle brush.

* * *

><p><strong>Hermione Jean Granger<strong>

_It might be restraining, but  
>as such it's free.<br>I don't understand,  
>but it's bigger than me.<br>So I open one arm,  
>but the other stays crossed<br>because some just don't realize  
>how much I have lost.<em>

* * *

><p>She does not and probably will not love.<p>

She feels no inclination toward it.

She does not want to love.

Her reasons are simple, logical, and conducted in the same manner her usual business goes around: cool and conducted. It is such a restraint, such a weakness, and it benefits practically nothing. To love means to have something that can be used against you, to have something that prevents you from thinking rationally and doing what is needed. And rationality is everything to her.

She doesn't understand what it means to want love.

But she knows. She has every right to; she is, after all, in her fifth year of Hogwarts. She understands by now that the universe is something bigger, better, brighter than she'll ever be. She knows she has a purpose, though she may not know what it is. And she knows that someday she'll complete that purpose, no matter how difficult, meaningless, or stupid the goal is. Because the whole world, every single person, all the parts of the play on the stage of the world, was part of something so much bigger than her, a machine that God pulls the strings off and no one else can control. She is under his control. But it's kind of scary on your own, and she is fine with that. It is okay to accept help.

But love, another part she doesn't understand, is free. It releases her. It helps her fly.

So, when she begins to realize she may have an inkling of a feeling for a certain red-headed Qudditch player with an appetite and blunt terms, she doesn't push him away like other friends-turned-crushes might be.

She doesn't accept it, either, though.

Because the world out there, with all its twists and turns, was just the beginning.

And the war, which was starting in the full, held no space for petty things like love.

* * *

><p><strong>a final word<strong>

_what is the thing that makes life worth living?  
>revenge or a motive, for love or for life?<br>the choices are endless, the masks all deceiving,  
>lined with the lines of despair, age, and strife.<br>the water is rippled, the surface is smeared,  
>by ages of lying, betrayal, and greed.<br>but by turning around and by fixing the clock,  
>there's a lesson to learn and a treasure to heed.<br>the song of the ages, the riddle unknown:  
>no matter the life, or the cost, or the toll<br>there's always a lining in every dark nimbus:  
>just so, in life, there is always a goal.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>So, it's finally done!<strong>

**Credit goes to:**

**Me. Yes, I wrote those poems. Sheesh.**

**J K Rowling, for her awesome characters and concepts.**

**Thanks, y'all! I'm starting to like this hundred-prompts thing more than I thought I would.**


	4. Light

**iii. light**

* * *

><p>Down the Tunnel<p>

because that's what lies at the end.

* * *

><p><em>it's the figurative light at the end of the tunnel that people chase after<em>

_that distorted artifical light_

_it will make them happier, they believe_

_revenge, love, all and nothing_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Tom Marvalo Riddle <em>**smirked with defiance as he ushered them forward. Crooking one finger, he looked over his shoulder, casting an exasperated glance at the two reluctant children.

"C'mon, Amy, Dennis," he sighed, the epitome of a reluctant, eager-to-please child. "I found the most unbelievable thing...you won't even begin to think...it's huge!"

The pauses in the middle were carefully placed, working with widened eyes and excited grins as the two glanced at each other, shrugged, and came forth.

At the mouth of the cave, he stopped, handsome features distorting into something different. Holding out a single hand, he gazed forward, not even sparing them a glance.

"Wait here."

"Tom-"

"I said _wait here!_"

Strutting forward into the cave, Tom cast a look behind him toward a small pinprick of light at the end of the cave, clouded by two shadows smaller than dots. Insignificant.

Turning forward again, he hissed.

_I am here, Nagini, and, as I have promised, brought you revenge._

Stalactites fed their water to the ground in heavy droplets, plunk-plunk-plunking on the cold stone. Not a breath of wind crept this far into the cave, shielding it from everything. Suddenly, from even further into the cave, the shadows began to move in patterns of green and black, finally exposing a long, coiling female snake.

_The scoundrels that tormented me and fed me this pain?_

_Yes, _he replied as Nagini slithered forward to once again expose a sickly orange wound sliced out with a child's penknife.

Turning his face halfway to the right, not tearing his gaze away from Nagini, he shouted out from the corner of his mouth. "Amy! Dennis! It's a giant snake! You won't believe it!"

Within seconds, the two were by his side, gazing at the snake in awe as it curled around the crisp stone rock formations. Amy squealed in fright as Nagini began curling slowly, but Dennis elbowed her in a show of childish loyalty. _So brazen...and, of course, foolish. _Out loud however, he assured Amy himself. "Don't worry; she's perfectly tame. I've been with her myself on many occasions."

Nagini coiled and uncoiled, sniffing the scent of the two and referencing it with the ones that had attempted to slice her open. Finally, snarling and exposing fangs, Nagini rose, swaying in anger, hypnotizing and dangerous. Her hiss was a wild yowl in Tom's brain. _These are not the two I wanted! These are not the two that did this!_

Still swaying forward in anger incarnate, Nagini dug a fang into Tom's shoulder and he howled. Amy's eyes widened in shock, Dennis's in admiration. Nevertheless, Tom had eyes only for the snake, who was now curling around the wound, squeezing, her heavy tail trailing of Dennis's shoulder and onto his long scratch. Tom did not flinch. _These are not the two who mocked me, mocked my kind, wounded me like I have you. Why do you bring me these? They are of no concern to me. You, however..._her eyes flashed. _You, who have tried and dared to trick me. It seems I need to repay you in kind._

Thinking quickly, Tom smirked. _Why delay? Flesh is flesh. Humans are humans. I am but a child who has the gift. It will take time to track them down. For now, take your revenge on the human race. Take your anger out on them._

There was a weighted pause. Finally, Nagini's long body draped itself once more across Amy and Dennis. Amy flinched as Nagini rubbed a single fang along her cheek. _You are lucky you think like a snake, Tom Riddle._

As Nagini turned to Dennis and squeezed like a vice around his head, Tom smiled. _I agree._

* * *

><p><em>and at the end<em>

_they find themselves indeed heading toward the light_

_at the end of the tunnel._

_and even then, they hope it's something better than what they had when living_

_they reach the end to find_

_that the light at the end of the tunnel_

_is the same as the light of the living:_

_**not what they wanted.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Still no reviews. Anywho...I know this is shorter than most of my other ones, but friend says it's fine. I feel like my chapters are becoing darker and darker...direct contrast to light. Haha, pun! Anywho, review, dears? (Won't be much use, no one's reviewed yet...)<strong>


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